Broken
by The Man-Eating Ninja
Summary: "He's heard the rumors- she's brave, she's tough as nails and as any boy, and, mostly, that she ain't to fond of him." Hints of Ponyboy/Angela, oneshot. Rated for some bad words.


**Disclaimer; S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders**

He kicks the can down the street as he walks, each foot sending it further along the gravel. It clangs and bounces, but the sound is somehow comforting. He likes the quiet, but at the moment, the streets of Tulsa's east side are to silent, to _still_ for him. It feels as if this can is the only thing keeping the town where it is, attached to this planet, keeping them all from drifting into some other world where theirs no greasers or soc's or money.

But isn't that what he wants? He can't stand the social classes- he does so much trying to get rid of them. But at the same time, it's part of what anchors him to this world. It's like, if he can't have something to hate, somethings to fight against, he's not really real.

He chuckles under his breath- look at him, isn't that what he always thinks about Dallas? Isn't he always wondering how someone could be so hateful, and growing more angry by the second? In some ways, he considers himself a hypocrite. He petitions so violently against hate that he becomes hate itself.

But he has a _right_ to hate the things he does- doesn't he? The stuff he despised put his friend in a wheelchair and turned someone he thought he knew into an even colder, harder person than before. The social division had caused his family to worry and his friends to take on a more serious air, like they can't be kids anymore.

But that would all be taken care of tonight.

He thinks this is the biggest rumble since a year and a half ago, and everything has changed since then. He became his best-friends babysitter, his grades have been a roller-coaster, and are finally stabilizing, he got a girlfriend and lost her, he got a friend hurt when some ass pulled a bottle on him, in fact, he looks back and sees nothing that's the same about this night and that one all the way in the past, except for the fact that on both he wanted a smoke.

Tonight, he's not going to the rumble. It started over some chick and escalated, and he hardly thinks theirs a point in fighting over chicks. At least not anymore; it's been a while since he met a girl he liked enough to even think about fighting over. He knows no one will give him any shit for it, because they all think he's bummed over Cathy and they assume he's going to hang out with Johnny. He lets them think that.

The can drops into a gutter at the same second she leaves some dinner, and he should probably take that as a sign. He takes her in for a moment- wondering if he feels any hatred towards her. He knows she caused him trouble. He knows _she_ may hate him. Hate him for something he didn't know he'd done. But humiliation and anger can make people irrational; he knows better than anyone.

She looks up then- she's got these blue eyes, all dark and cold and kind of lost, and he knows that she's got a burning feeling in the pit of her stomach, something he rarely feels but gets the backlash of plenty.

"What are you looking at?" she calls down the street, her voice clear in the evenings silence. Hey brows are knitted together and her full lips scowl just for him. He reddens and looks down.

"Nothin'" he mutters, wondering if she can hear him. He's heard the rumors- she's brave, she's tough as nails and as any boy, and, mostly, that she ain't to fond of him. She proved that when she had some guy fight him for her.

He stands their for a second, like an idiot, waiting for the sound of her heels disappear, only they don't. Instead, they stop completely. He looks up, and their eyes meet again.

It's almost as if their both afraid to move, to turn and walk away. Maybe neither of them know where their going anyways, and this just made them realize that. Whatever it is, he finds he can't just leave.

He notices a slight red tinge to her eyes, suddenly. This, paired with the small glittering streaks on her cheeks clues him in to something.

"Uh, have you been, y'know, crying?" he asks slowly, afraid of her answer, wondering if she'll cuss him out.

"No, you..." she uses a few choice words halfheartedly, like she hates saying them to him. She looks him in the eyes the whole while through, which he doesn't like, because he really hates it when girls talk like that.

"Sorry." his voice comes out week and he tries to clear his throat, but realizes theirs nothing stuck there. She just makes him feel like a lesser being. She surveys him for a moment, like she's sizing him up- it's a look he gets from a lot of people, but usually when they want to fight him.

"Why aren't you at the rumble?" she asks, her tone accusing and harsh and cold. He wonders just how much he hurt her, just how much her pride meant to her, for her to _still_ talk to him like that.

"I- I guess I just..." he ends his lame thoughts with a shrug. He feels disarmed when in her presence, something he wasn't expecting. He feels uneasy- but not like he had with Cathy. Around her, he felt shy, but this girl...She makes him feel threatened and jumpy, like someones waiting for him to be alone so they could kill him.

"Spit it out, grease." It's strange to hear that slightly forgotten name from one of his own. Then he realizes she's hardly one of his- they ain't even the same fucking species. She's some alien to him, someone he'll never fully understand, and he thinks she'll never get him, either.

"I don't like fights." he finally admits, almost ashamed of his feelings. He was never exactly a fan of screaming this opinion of his out loud, but in front of her, it seemed worse. Like confessing to some awful crime.

"Well. Thats some attitude." he looks up to her face and sees something between a smile and a sneer. He realizes then just how beautiful she is, and he hates it. He hates how something so stunning can be so cruel, so full of hate. He looks he in the eye when he responds.

"Yeah, well." it's not much, but he watches as a miniscule change appears in her face. She probably expected him to turn and run, his tail between his legs. And he knows several better guys that would have. But him...he just can't accept turning his back to her. She sniffs and brushes the tear tracks from her face, and he takes this as her way of admitting defeat. Admitting she's the weaker of the two.

"Look...you need someone to walk you home? It's getting late, and all..." he knows it's a useless offer, because anyone who'd try something on her is at the rumble, but he'd feel like an ass if he didn't offer.

"Fuck you." she says, and it's his turn to loose. He turns to walk away, but she calls him back. "Walk me home, okay? But keep your trap shut." he doesn't know what makes her let him come with her, but he realizes she probably doesn't, either. He changes his course and walks along side her, finding her long strides hard to keep up with. She walks fast, her shoulders back and chin up, like she rules the world.

She glances at him and noticing him staring, and scowls.

"Do you got a problem?" she asks, her thin eyebrows pulling together above the bridge of her nose. She looks pretty when she's angry, to.

"No." he shakes his head and looks down, afraid of her, almost. He wonders what Soda would say, or Two-Bit, about him being afraid of girls. But it ain't all girls- just this one- that really scares him. He can't explain it, he just knows he'll never feel this creeped around any other broad.

"I think you do." She says, "Hell, if you didn't, you wouldn't really be a greaser." it's the most honest thing he's heard a chick say, he thinks, more honest than Cathy's conversations about he brother and Cherry's talks of sunset. Because she's being dead truthful, telling him a secret about herself, hiding a confession in her words. He knows it's easy to talk about a friend or brother's fears and feelings, but her type usually don't reveal their personal thoughts. He doesn't know why she's telling him, maybe because she's heard he keeps his mouth shut good, maybe because she figures she might as well tell somebody.

He waits a few moments, before asking his question.

"Why were you crying earlier?" he asks, terrified. For a moment, after seeing a flash of anger across her perfect features, he think she'll slap him.

"Thought I told you to keep your mouth shut?" she finally says, slowly and calmly, like the voice Dally uses when he gets mad. He mutters an apology and sees her nod. He watches, then, as a slight movement of her fingers brings attention to the lack of a ring. He's on her left side, and knows she's supposed to have some gold band her drunk-ass husband gave her, but he just sees a soft indent and a pale strip of skin.

Angela's made no secret of the fact that she hates her husband, but he thinks she must have loves some part of him, because she's letting herself go, just for a second, for the scum. But then he realizes, she ain't crying for no man. She's crying for herself. What six-teen year old girl has been divorced? She ain't even twenty and she's been farther then a lot of girls in this town, and she knows it. So tonight, when everyone is fighting or at home, waiting for their brothers and boyfriends to come back, she thinks it's safe to be selfish and cry over herself.

"Look, kid," she says all of a sudden, "I'm sorry." he tries to keep his jaw from dropping. She doesn't say things like that- she ain't like Cathy or Cherry or any of the gangs girls, who know when to own up to what they've done. He knows she thinks herself invincible, and he wonders what he's done to earn an apology from her. She takes a deep breath, like she's gonna say more, but decides not to. He wishes she would- he sure as hell can't figure out what to say to her.

They walk the remainder of the way in silence. He wonders how long it will take him to get home- he was just out for a simple walk, and he had ended up pretty close to the North-East side of town, and he didn't want Darry to be worried. But he also found that he just wanted to make sure she was OK. He didn't want her to cry again, and, strangely, he didn't want her to apologies to him again.

"This is it." she said, stepping onto her old, wooden porch. She's clasping her purse strap with both hands, her knuckles turning white. She's giving him this look and he doesn't know if she's going to smack him or kiss him. She ends up doing neither, just awkwardly raising her arm, as if to pat him on the back, before dropping it back down.

"You know," she finally says, "I really do hate you. I hate everything in this goddamned world, but you especially, and I don't even know why." she hesitates, biting one of her full lips, "But I think their might be this one person I hat more, so hang onto that." she turns and enters the house, and he leaves, knowing who that one person in, and wishing he could convince her not to hate them, because that's the only person she's really got left.

**Please, tell me what you think. I worked hard on this, but i'm not sure if it's even clear who i'm talking about.**


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